:-NRLF 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


I  l«>.\\   THI:    I.IHRAk1,     Dl 

BENJAMIN  PARKE  AVERY. 


GIFT  OF  MRS.  AVERY. 
Accessions  No.(03  7 5^T~     CA/ss  M). 


70 


if  ft 


THE   WRITER   OF   THESE   VERSES 


TO     HIS    FRIEND, 
E.  P.  W. 


CONTENTS. 

YOUTH'S    Song 5 

The  Old  Year 6 

On  a  Lock  of  Keats's  Hair 7 

From  the  German 8 

An   Invitation 10 

On  a  late  Loss 1 1 

Marian  in  her  Cell 12 

Franklin's  Statue 14 

Moonrise  at  Sea 1 6 

Spring,  among  the  Hills 18 

Wordsworth 20 

After  hearing  Mrs.  Kemble 22 

On  a  Book  of  Sea-Mosses 24 

Ballad  of  the  Temped 26 

Laft  Wishes  of  a  Child 28 

On  a  Pair  of  Antlers 3° 

The  Song  Queen 32 

On  a  Portrait  of  Cromwell 34 

The  Alpine  Cross 36 

A  Poor  Man's  Epitaph 38 

Vespers 4° 

Our  Fireside  Evening  Hymn 42 

3 


UNIVERSITY 


4  Contents. 

Relics 44 

The  Flight  of  Angels 45 

Saco  Falls 46 

The  Dead 48 

A  Silent  Sermon 50 

The  Fountain 52 

Summer  Evening  Melody 53 

Sleighing  Song 54 

Villager's  Winter- Evening  Song 56 

Children  in  Exile 58 

Common  Sense 60 

To  a  Friend 62 

Dirge  for  a  Young  Girl 64 

Eventide  in  the  Country 65 

Bridal  Melody 66 

A  Valentine 68 

Song  over  the  Cradle  of  two  Infant  Sifters,  sleeping-  •  69 

Burial  of  a  German  Emigrant's  Child  at  Sea 70 

M.  W.  B. 72 

On  a  Village  Church  in  England 73 

To  One  beneath  the  Waves 74 

A  Charader 75 

In  the  Foreft 76 

In  Venice 77 


YOUTH'S   SONG. 

THE  pale  moon-crescent  in  the  azure  slept, 
And    odorous   violets    mingled   with    our 

talk,— 
Anon  the  bells  from  all  the  turrets  swept 

A  flood  of  mufic  down  the  perfumed  walk — 
Hurrying  the  golden  hours — 
The  tremulous,  golden  hours — 
The  winged,  paflionate  hours. 

Then  Time  began  his  joyous  course  to  run, 
Zoning   the    fragrant    earth    with   grace    su 
preme  j 

Thenceforth  our  heaven  has  held  a  liberal  sun, 
Freighting    our    voyage    of   love    o'er    life's 
clear  stream — 

Leading  the  golden  hours — 
The  tremulous,  golden  hours — 
The  fleeting,  fleeting  hours. 
5 


THE  OLD   YEAR. 

THE  white  dawn  glimmered,   and  he  said 
"'Tis  day!" 
The  eaft  was  reddening,  and  he   sighed 

"  Farewell  "— 
The  herald  Sun  came  forth,  and  he  was  dead. 

Life  was  in  all  his  veins  but  yestermorn, 
And  ruddy  health  seemed  laughing  on  his  lips  ; 
Now  he  is  duft,  and  will  not  breathe  again  ! 

Give  him  a  place  to  lay  his  regal  head, 
Give  him  a  tomb  beside  his  brothers  gone, 
Give  him  a  tablet  for  his  deeds  and  name. 

Hear   the    new   voice    that    claims    the   vacant 

throne, 

Take  the  new  hand  outftretched  to  meet  thy  kiss, 
But   give    the«Paft — 'tis    all    thou    canft — thy 

tears  ! 

6 


ON  RECEIVING  A  LOCK  OF  KEATS'S  HAIR. 

I  AEAR  relic  of  a  bright  immortal  name, 
•*-^  Forever  young,  and  canopied  by  fame, — 
I  touch  thy  beauty  with  a  tremulous  thrill. 

Oft  in  the  columned  city,  when  night's  flill 
And  ftarry-veftured  hours  seem  prone  to  weep 
Where  Keats  is  laid  in  moon-enfolded  ileep, 
Among  the  daifies  fhrining  his  loved  bones 
Mid   Death's    mosaic, — green    turf   and    white 

ftones, — 

I've  heard  the  song-birds  with  their  mufic  pass 
Above  their  nefted  brother  in  the  grass, 
And  thought  with  joy,  and  tear-suffused  eyes — 
No  serpent,  now,  lurks  in  his  Paradise, 
No   venomed  tongue   can  reach   him  with   its 

hate — 
Wrapped  in  eternal  quiet  with,  the  great  ! 


FROM   THE   GERMAN. 

TN  the  old  Cathedral  retting, 
-*•  Two  coffins  press  the  ftones  ; 
One  holds  the  great  King  Ottmar, 
And  one  the  poet's  bones. 


High  in  his  power,  the  monarch 

Anceftral  glories  led  j 
The  sword  lies  in  his  right  hand, 

And  the  crown  upon  his  head. 


The  minftrel  near  the  proud  king 
Is  laid  in  quiet  fleep, — 

His  lifeless  hands  enfolded, 
His  gentle  harp  to  keep. 
8 


From  the  German. 

Caftles  and  towers  are  falling — 
The  war-cry  thrills  the  land, — 

But  the  sword  it  moveth  never 
In  the  dead  king's  hand. 


Through  valleys,  sweet  with  blofToms, 

Mild  breezes  float  along, 
And  the  poet's  harp  is  sounding 

In  never-dying  song. 


AN   INVITATION. 

/T~VHE  warm  wide  hills  are  muffled  thick  with 

A        green, 

And  fluttering  swallows  fill  the  air  with  song. 
Come  to  our  cottage-home.     Lowly  it  ftands, 
Set  in  a  vale  of  flowers,  deep  fringed  with  grass. 
The  sweetbrier  (noiseless  herald  of  the  place) 
Flies  with  its  odor,  meeting  all  who  roam 
With  welcome  footfteps  to  our  small  abode. 
No  splendid  cares  live  here — no  barren  shows. 
The  bee  makes  harbor  at  our  perfumed  door, 
And  hums  all  day  his  breezy  note  of  joy. 

Come,  O  my  friend  !  and  mare  our  feftal  month, 
And  while  the  weft  wind  walks  the  leafy  woods, 
While  orchard-blooms  are  white  in  all  the  lanes, 
And  brooks  make  mufic  in  the  deep,  cool  dells, 
Enjoy  the  golden  moments  as  they  pass, 
And  gain  new  ftrength  for  days  that  are  to 
come. 


TO   ,  ON    A    LATE   LOSS. 

T  KNOW  your  grief, — for  death  has  walked 
-*-  Through  all  the  chambers  of  my  heart  j 
And  I  have  sat,  like  you,  and  watched 
My  idols,  one  by  one,  depart. 

IV e  come  not  of  that  crowd,  my  friend, 
Who  tell  their  sorrows  far  and  near, — 

Who  name  aloud,  with  frequent  figh, 
The  loved  one  laid  upon  the  bier. 

Take  my  warm  tears  !  I  may  not  speak 

When  next  I  grasp  your  trembling  hand, — 

What  need  of  words,  heart-brother  dear  ? 
My  filence  you  can  underftand. 


ii 


MARIAN  IN  HER  CELL, 

AFTER    THE    MURDER. 

'VT'OU  looked  across  the  meadows 

*   At  the  red  sun  in  the  Weft, 
And  the  wood  was  full  of  fhadows, 
But  my  head  lay  on  your  breaft — 
And  your  words  were  low  and  sweet, 
And  our  hearts  in  mufic  beat. 


You  spoke, — I  only  liftened — 
(Bleft  hours  without  alloy,) 

You  sang, — my  tear-drops  gliftened, — 
I  was  dumb  and  blind  with  joy. 

Could  I  hear  your  bridal  bell — 

You  in  Heaven,  and  I  in  Hell ! 


Marian  in  her  Cell.  13 

Could  I  flop  the  cursed  blade, 

At  your  throat  so  warm  and  white — 

Where  my  loving  fingers  played 

With  the  moonlight  through  the  night  ? 

Could  I  think)  and  hold  the  fteel  ! 

Could  I  pause,  and  live  to  feel  ! 


By  the  hallowed  lips  of  God 
There  is  Murder  on  your  soul  ! 

As  I  knelt  upon  the  sod 

Where  the  death-black  waters  roll, 

I  could  hear  the  angry  flood 

Calling,  hoarsely,  "  Blood  for  Blood!  " 


Mtf^TTftlfflftfflffl?^^ 

-.l~O~  -,O--CV-  -O-.  -CV  -.CV-  -O-  -O-  -O-  -O-  -O-  -O-.  -O-  -O-  -£i-  -CU 


FOR  THE   INAUGURATION 
OF  FRANKLIN'S  STATUE  IN  HIS  NATIVE  CITY. 

GIVE  welcome  to  his  sculptured  form  ! 
Art's  splendid  triumph  here  is  won, — 
Thus  let  him  ftand,  in  light  and  ftorm, 
Our  sea-girt  city's  greateft  son. 

His  lineage  sprung  from  honeft  toil, 

Swart  Labor  trained  his  youthful  hand  ; — 

High  with  the  brave  who  freed  our  soil — 
Where  firft  he  breathed  let  FRANKLIN  ftand. 

His  genius  ftamped  the  Press  with  power  ; 

His  glance  the  glowing  future  saw ; 
His  science  curbed  the  fiery  fhower ; 

His  wisdom  ftood  with  Peace  and  Law. 


15 


The  world  his  ftory  long  has  flirined, — 
To  Fame  his  spotless  deeds  belong — 

His  homely  Truth,  his  ample  Mind, 
His  Saxon  hate  of  human  Wrong. 

Room  for  the  gray-haired  patriot-sage  ! 

For  here  his  genial  life  began  ; — 
Thus  let  him  look  from  age  to  age, 

And  prompt  new  Thought  ennobling  Man. 


MOONRISE    AT   SEA. 
A    CHILD    SPEAKS. 

COME  up  !  the  moon  is  rifmg  faft, 
The  sea  is  calm,  the  deck  is  clear  : 
Come,  mother,  ftay  no  longer  here — 
The  moonlight  will  not  always  laft. 

Do  you  remember  once  you  talked 
With  me  of  Chrift  upon  the  sea  ? 
Now  hearken,  for  this  seems  to  me 

The  mining  path  where  Jesus  walked  ! 

And  when  the  filvery  brightness  came 
Along  the  sparkling  waves  to-night, 
My  heart  leaped  trembling  at  the  fight, 

And  then  I  spoke  our  Saviour's  name. 
16 


Moonrise  at  Sea.  17 

I  fhould  not  fear  his  holy  will, 

If  now  he  flood  in  yon  bright  place, 
And  I  could  see  his  blefled  face, 

And  hear  him  whisper  "  Peace,  be  still  !  " 


SPRING,   AMONG   THE   HILLS. 

OIT  and  talk  with  the  mountain  frreams 

^  In  the  beautiful  spring  of  the  year, 

When   the   violet    gleams    through   the  golden 

sunbeams, 

And  whispers  "  Come  look  for  me  here"  — 
In  the  beautiful  spring  of  the  year. 

I  will  mow  you  a  glorious  nook 

Where  the  censers  of  morning  are  swung  ; 
Nature  will  lend  you  her  bell  and  her  book 

Where  the  chimes  of  the  foreft  are  Jiung — 
And  the  censers  of  morning  are  swung. 

Come  and  breathe  in  this  heaven-sent  air 
The  breeze  that  the  wild-bird  inhales, 
18 


Spring,  among  the  Hills.  19 

Come  and  forget  that  life  has  a  care, 

In  these  exquifite  mountain-gales — 
The  breeze  that  the  wild-bird  inhales. 


O    wonders    of  God  !  —  O    Bounteous    and 
Good— 

We  feel  that  thy  presence  is  here, — 
That  thine  audible  voice  is  abroad  in  this  wood 

In  the  beautiful  spring  of  the  year, — 
And  we  know  that  our  Father  is  here. 


WORDSWORTH. 


THE  grass  hung  wet  on  Rydal  banks. 
The  golden  day  with  pearls  adorning, 
When  fide  by  fide  with  him  we  walked, 
To  meet  midway  the  summer  morning. 


The  weft  wind  took  a  softer  breath, 
The  sun  himself  seemed  brighter  mining, 
As  through  the  porch  the  minftrel  ftepped, 
His  eye  sweet  Nature's  look  enmrining. 


He  pafled  along  the  dewy  sward, 
The  bluebird  sang  aloft,  "  Good  morrow  !  " 
He  plucked  a  bud,  the  flower  awoke 
And  smiled  without  one  pang  of  sorrow. 


Wordsworth.  2 1 

He  spoke  of  all  that  graced  the  scene 
In  tones  that  fell  like  mufic  round  us  ; 
We  felt  the  charm  descend,  nor  ftrove 
To  break  the  rapturous  spell  that  bound  us. 


We  liftened  with  myfterious  awe, 

Strange  feelings  mingling  with  our  pleasure  ; 

We  heard  that  day  prophetic  words, — 

High  thoughts  the  heart  muft  always  treasure. 


Great  Nature's  Prieft  !  thy  calm  career 
With  that  sweet  morn  on  earth  has  ended  ; 
But  who  mail  say  thy  miffion  died, 
When,  winged  for  heaven,  thy  soul  ascended  ? 


WRITTEN 

AFTER    HEARING    MRS.    KEMBLE    READ    "THE    TEMPEST." 

THOU  great  Enchantress,  walking  hand  in 
hand 
With    him    of    Avon,    nursed    in    Albion's 

isle, — 
Whether  we  meet  thee  on  the  sea-beat  sand, 

Or  gilding  old  Verona  with  thy  smile, — 
Welcome  !  thou  fit  attendant  on  his  fame, 
Whose  glorious  thoughts  reecho  ftill  his  name  ! 


Illumed  by  thee,  those  deathless  pages  glow 
With  added  luftre  naught  but  Genius  gives  : 

Thou  speak'ft  !  thy  melting  tones  their  mufic 

throw 
Along  the  lines,  and  lo  !   swift  Ariel  lives, 

And  fmgs,  and,  darting,  drinks  the  filent  air, 

Then,  fading,  floats  away, — we  wift  not  where ! 


Written  after  hearing  Mrs.  Kemble.    23 

Thou  bidd'ft  us  forth  where'er  his  fancy  reigns : 
Through   verdurous   Arden    now  we  watch 

thee  roam, — 
Anon,  thou  call'ft  us  to  the  Roman  plains, 

As  if  those  dufky  haunts  had  been  thy  home. 
Where'er  thou  wilt,  thou  lead'ft  us,  wonder 
ing,  on, 
Bound  to  the  magic  of  thy  beckoning  tone. 


Thou  great  reftorer  of  departed  breath  ! 

O,  front  to  front  with  him  couldft  thou  but 

ftand, 
His  spirit,  wafted  from  the  halls  of  Death 

Back  to  its  old  domain,  thy  native  land, — 
How  would  our  hearts  with  warmeft   rapture 

ftir, 

To  hear  that   voice  applaud   his   sweet   Inter 
preter  ! 


ON  A  BOOK  OF  SEA-MOSSES, 
SENT    TO    AN    EMINENT    ENGLISH    POET. 

TO  him  who  sang  of  Venice,  and  revealed 
How  Wealth  and  Glory  cluftered  in  her 

flreets, 
And  poised  her  marble  domes  with  wondrous 

fkill, 

We  send  these  tributes,  plundered  from  the  sea. 
These  many-colored,  variegated  forms 
Sail  to  our  rougher  shores,  and  rise  and  fall 
To  the  deep  mufic  of  the  Atlantic  wave. 
Such    spoils   we    capture   where    the   rainbows 

drop, 

Melting  in  ocean.     Here  are  broideries  ftrange, 
Wrought  by  the  sea-nymphs  from  their  golden 

hair, 

And  wove  by  moonlight.     Gently  turn  the  leaf. 
24 


On  a  Book  of  Sea-Mosses.          25 

From  narrow  cells,  scooped  in  the  rocks,  we 

take 

These  fairy  textures,  lightly  moored  at  morn. 
Down  sunny  slopes,  outftretching  to  the  deep, 
We  roam  at  noon,  and  gather  fhapes  like  these. 
Note   now  the   painted  webs   from   verdurous 

isles, 

Feftooned  and  spangled  in  sea-caves,  and  say 
What  hues  of  land  can  rival  tints  like  those, 
Torn  from  the  scarfs  and  gonfalons  of  kings 
Who  dwell  beneath  the  waters. 

Such  our  Gift, 

Culled  from  a  margin  of  the  Weftern  World, 
And  offered  unto  Genius  in  the  Old. 


BALLAD   OF   THE   .TEMPEST. 

TT  7E  were  crowded  in  the  cabin, 

*  *      Not  a  soul  would  dare  to  fleep,- 
It  was  midnight  on  the  waters, 
And  a  ftorm  was  on  the  deep. 


'Tis  a  fearful  thing  in  winter 
To  be  {battered  in  the  blaft, 

And  to  hear  the  rattling  trumpet 
Thunder,  "  Cut  away  the  maft  !  " 


So  we  fhuddered  there  in  filence, — 
For  the  ftouteft  held  his  breath, 

While  the  hungry  sea  was  roaring, 
And  the  breakers  talked  with  Death, 
26 


Ballad  of  the  tempest.  27 

As  thus  we  sat  in  darkness, 

Each  one  busy  in  his  prayers, — 

"  We  are  loft  !  "  the  captain  (houted, 
As  he  ftaggered  down  the  ftairs. 


But  his  little  daughter  whispered, 
As  {he  took  his  icy  hand, 

"  Isn't  God  upon  the  ocean, 

Just  the  same  as  on  the  land  ?  " 


Then  we  kifled  the  little  maiden, 
And  we  spoke  in  better  cheer, 

And  we  anchored  safe  in  harbor 
When  the  morn  was  ihining  clear. 


LAST   WISHES   OF  A   CHILD. 

;    A   LL  the  hedges  are  in  bloom, 
-*  ^  And  the  warm  weft  wind  is  blowing 
Let  me  leave  this  ftifled  room. 

Let  me  go  where  flowers  are  growing. 


"  Look  !  my  cheek  is  thin  and  pale, 
And  my  pulse  is  very  low  : 

Ere  my  fight  begins  to  fail 
Take  my  hand,  and  let  us  go. 


"  Was  not  that  the  robin's  song, 
Piping  through  the  casement  wide  ? 

I  mail  not  be  liftening  long  : 
Take  me  to  the  meadow-fide. 


28 


Last  Wishes  of  a  Child.  29 

"  Bear  me  to  the  willow  brook  ; 

Let  me  hear  the  merry  mill ; 
On  the  orchard  I  muft  look 

Ere  my  beating  heart  is  ftill. 


"  Faint  and  fainter  grows  my  breath, — 
Lead  me  quickly  down  the  lane  : 

Mother  dear  !  this  chill  is  death  ^ — 
I  mail  never  speak  again  !  " 


Still  the  hedges  are  in  bloom, 

And  the  warm  weft  wind  is  blowing  ; 
Still  we  sit  in  filent  gloom, — 

O'er  his  grave  the  grass  is  growing. 


9^r^ 


ON   A    PAIR   OF   ANTLERS, 

BROUGHT    FROM    GERMANY. 

IFT  from  the  land  of  song  and  wine,- 

Can  I  forget  the  enchanted  day, 
When  firft  along  the  glorious  Rhine 
I  heard  the  huntsman's  bugle  play, 
And  marked  the  early  ftar  that  dwells 
Among  the  cliffs  of  Drachenfels  ! 


Again  the  isles  of  beauty  rise  ; — 
Again  the  crumbling  tower  appears, 

That  ftands,  defying  ftormy  fkies, 
With  memories  of  a  thousand  years, 

And  dark  old  forefts  wave  again, 

And  fhadows  crowd  the  dufky  plain. 
3° 


On  a  Pair  of  Antlers.  31 

They  brought  the  gift  that  I  might  hear 
The  mufic  of  the  roaring  pine, — 

To  fill  again  my  charmed  ear 

With  echoes  of  the  Rodenftein, — 

With  echoes  of  the  filver  horn, — 

Across  the  wailing  waters  borne. 


Trophies  of  spoil  !  henceforth  your  place 
Is  in  this  quiet  home  of  mine  ; — 

Farewell  the  busy,  bloody  chase, 

Mute  emblems  now  of  cc  auld  lang  syne,' 

When  Youth  and  Hope  went  hand  in  hand 

To  roam  the  dear  old  German  land. 


THE   SONG  QUEEN. 

T    OOK  on  her  !  there  (he  ftands,  the  world's 
-*— '      prime  wonder, 

The  great  Queen  of  Song  !    *Ye  rapt  muficians, 
Touch  your  golden  wires,  for  now  ye  prelude 

ftrains 

To  mortal  ears  unwonted.     Hark  !  she  fings. 
Yon  pearly  gates  their  magic  waves  unloose, 
And  all  the  liberal  air  rains  melody 
Around.     O  night !   O  time  !  delay,  delay  ! 
Pause    here,    entranced.       Ye    evening   winds, 

come  near, 
But  whisper  not ;   and   you,  ye   flowers,  frefh 

culled 

From  odorous  nooks,  where  filvery  rivulets  run, 
Breathe  filent  incense  ftill. 
32 


Hail,  matchless  Queen ! 
Thou,   like  the   high   white  Alps,  canft   hear, 

unspoiled, 

The  world's  artillery  (thundering  praises)  pass, 
And  keep  serene  and  safe  thy  spotless  fame  ! 


ON  A   PORTRAIT   OF  CROMWELL. 


"  T)AINT  me  as  I  am,"  said  Cromwell, 
•*>    Rough  with  age  and  gamed  with  wars 

"  Show  my  visage  as  you  find  it, — 
Less  than  truth  my  soul  abhors." 


This  was  he  whose  muttering  phalanx 
Swept  the  foe  at  Marfton  Moor  ; 

This  was  he  whose  arm  uplifted 
From  the  duft  the  fainting  poor. 


God  had  made  his  face  uncomely, — 
"  Paint  me  as  I  am,"  he  said  ; 

So  he  lives  upon  the  canvas 

Whom  they  chronicled  as  dead  ! 
34 


On  a  Portrait  of  Cromwell.         35 

Simple  juftice  he  requefted 

At  the  artift's  glowing  hands, 
"  Simple  juftice  !  "  from  his  afhes 

Cries  a  voice  that  ftill  commands. 


And,  behold  !  the  page  of  Hiftory, 

Centuries  dark  with  CromwelFs  name, 

Shines  to-day  with  thrilling  luftre 
From  the  light  of  Cromwell's  fame  ! 


THE   ALPINE   CROSS. 

BENIGHTED  once  where  Alpine  florins 
Have  buried  hofts  of  martial  forms, 
Halting  with  fear,  benumbed  with  cold, 
While  swift  the  avalanches  rolled, 
Shouted  our  guide,  with  quivering  breath, 
"  The  path  is  loft  ! — to  move  is  death  !  " 

The  savage  snow-cliffs  seemed  to  frown, 
The  howling  winds  came  fiercer  down  : 
Shrouded  in  such  a  dismal  scene, 
No  mortal  aid  whereon  to  lean, 
Think  you  what  mufic  'twas  to  hear, 
cc  I  see  the  Cross  I — our  way  is  clear  !  " 

We  looked,  and  there,  amid  the  snows, 
A  simple  cross  of  wood  uprose  ; 
36 


The  Alpine  Cross.  37 

Firm  in  the  tempest's  awful  wrath 
It  stood,  to  guide  the  traveller's  path, 
And  point  to  where  the  valley  lies, 
Serene  beneath  the  summer  fkies. 

One  dear  companion  of  that  night 
Has  parted  away  from  mortal  fight ; — 
He  reached  his  home  to  droop  and  fade, 
And  deep  within  his  native  glade  ; 
But  as  his  fluttering  hand  I  took, 
Before  he  gave  his  farewell  look, 
He  whispered  from  his  bed  of  pain, 
"  The  Alpine  Cross  I  see  again  !  " 
Then,  smiling,  sank  to  endless  reft 
Upon  his  weeping  mother's  breaft  ! 


A    POOR   MAN'S   EPITAPH. 

T  TE  was  not  what  the  world  counts  rich, 
•*•       Houses  and  lands  had  none  in  {tore  ; 
But  blefled  with  ftrength  for  honeft  toil, 
He  neither  afked  nor  ftrove  for  more. 


His  neighbors  moved  in  higher  ranks, 
And  far  above  him  all  could  mine  ; 
He  lived  with  Health,  and  brave  Content, 
And  water  drank  inftead  of  wine. 


"  Enough  for  me,"  he  said,  cc  if  here 
My  table's  spread  when  hunger  calls, 
To  leave  me  something  for  a  friend 
Whose  lot  than  mine  ftill  lower  falls  : 
38 


A  Poor  Man's -Epitaph.  39 

"  And  if  the  rainy  days  fhould  come, 
And  I've  no  filver  hoarded  by, 
How  can  I  want,  if  Him  I  truft 
Who  feeds  the  ravens  when  they  cry  ? 


"  Around  my  board  a  place  I'll  keep 
For  pallid  lips  that  pine  in  woe, 
And  better  gifts  than  I  impart 
Shall  unseen  angel  hands  beftow !  " 


See  where  he  fleeps  who  served  mankind, — 
Who  wept  and  watched  with  weeping  eyes  ! 
Walk  round  his  grave  with  reverent  fteps. 
For  there  a  more  than  hero  lies. 


VESPERS. 

Trinita  de*  Monti,  Rome. 

A    RISE  !  the  sun-clouds  warn  us  it  is  time. 
•*  *•  The  door  swings  open,  let  us  enter  here  : 
Up    the    fteep    fleps   with    noiseless    foot    we 

climb, 
As  if  they  led  to  some  celeftial  sphere. 


Liften  !  the  nuns  are  gliding  in  unseen  ; 
And  now  begins  the  low,  heart-melting  ftrain. 
Your   tears    are    falling, — let   them    fall, — nor 

screen 
From  me  your  eyes  ; — I  know  that  sad,  sweet 

pain. 

40 


Vespers.  41 

Again,  again  that  penitential  wail ! 

Your  clasped  hands  tremble  ; — now  the  voices 

die. 
Let    us    go    hence  ; — your  quivering  lips  turn 

pale ; — 
Hufhed  is  the  hymn  so  like  an  angel's  figh. 


The  day  is  fled  ; — these  walls  are  not  our  home ; 
Forth  in  the  breeze  of  evening  let  us  fland. 
Come  !  lean  on  me  as  we  descend  to  Rome, 
From  what  has  seemed  the  angels'  spirit-land  ! 


OUR   FIRESIDE   EVENING   HYMN. 

T  TITHER,  bright  angels,  wing  your  flight, 
•*-  •*•  And  ftay  your  gentle  presence  here  ; 
Watch  round,  and  fhield  us  through  the  night, 
That  every  {hade  may  disappear. 


How  sweet,  when  Nature  claims  repose, 
And  darkness  floats  in  filence  nigh, 
To  welcome  in,  at  daylight's  close, 
Those  radiant  troops  that  gem  the  fky  ! 


To  feel  that  unseen  hands  we  clasp, 
While  feet  unheard  are  gathering  round,- 
To  know  that  we  in  faith  may  grasp 
Celeftial  guards  from  heavenly  ground  ! 
42 


Our  Fireside  Evening  Hymn.        43 

O,  ever  thus,  with  filent  prayer 
For  those  we  love,  may  night  begin, — 
Repofing  safe,  released  from  care, 
Till  morning  leads  the  sunlight  in. 


3®§ii 


RELICS. 

'\TO\J  afk  me  why  with  such  a  jealous  care 
•*•     I   hoard  these  rings,  this  chain  of  filken 

hair. 

This  cross  of  pearl,  this  fimple  key  of  gold, 
And  all  these  trifles  which  my  hands  enfold. 
I'll  tell  you,  friend,  why  all  these  things  become 
My  bleft  companions  when  remote  from  home ; 
Why,  when  I  fleep,  these  firft  secured  I  see, 
With  wakeful  eye  and  guarded  conftancy. 
Each  little  token,  each  familiar  toy, 
My  mother  gave  her  once  too  happy  boy ; 
Her  kiss  went  with  them  ; — chide  me,  then,  no 

more, 

That  thus  I  count  my  treasures  o'er  and  o'er; — 
Alas  !  fhe  fleeps  beneath  the  duft  of  years, 
And  these  few  flowers  I  water  with  my  tears  ! 
44 


THE   FLIGHT   OF    ANGELS. 

TWO  pilgrims  to  the  Holy  Land 
Faffed  through  our  open  door, — 
Two  fmless  Angels,  hand  in  hand, 
Have  reached  the  promised  more. 

We  saw  them  take  their  heavenward  flight, 
Through  floods  of  drowning  tears, 

And  felt  in  woe's  bewildering  night 
The  agony  of  years. 

But  now  we  watch  the  golden  path 

Their  bleiTed  feet  have  trod, 
And  know  that  voice  was  not  in  wrath 

Which  called  them  both  to  God. 


45 


SACO   FALLS. 

USH  on,  bold  ftream  !  thou  sendeft  up 
Brave  notes  to  all  the  woods  around, 
When  morning  beams  are  gathering  fail, 

And  hufhed  is  every  human  sound ; 
I  ftand  beneath  the  sombre  hill, 
The  ftars  are  dim  o'er  fount  and  rill, 
And  ftill  I  hear  thy  waters  play, 
In  welcome  mufic,  far  away. 
Dafh  on,  bold  ftream  !     I  love  the  roar 
Thou  sendeft  up  from  rock  and  more. 


'Tis  night  in  heaven, — the  ruftling  leaves 
Are  whispering  of  the  coming  ftorm, 

And  thundering  down  the  river's  bed 
I  see  thy  lengthened,  darkling  form  ; 
46 


Saco  Falls.  47 

No  voices  from  the  vales  are  heard. 
The  winds  are  low, — each  little  bird 
Hath  sought  its  quiet,  rocking  neft, 
Folded  its  wing,  and  gone  to  reft, — 
And  ftill  I  hear  thy  waters  play, 
In  welcome  mufic,  far  away. 


The  earth  hath  many  a  gallant  mow 

Of  towering  peak  and  glacier  bright, 
But  ne'er  beneath  the  glorious  moon 

Hath  Nature  framed  a  lovelier  fight 
Than  thy  fair  tide,  with  diamonds  fraught, 
When  every  drop  with  light  is  caught, 
And  o'er  the  bridge  the  village  girls 
Reflect  below  their  waving  curls. 
While  merrily  thy  waters  play, 
In  welcome  mufic,  far  away  ! 


THE   DEAD. 

"  Still  the  same,  no  charm  forgot, — 
Nothing  lost  that  Time  had  given" 

T7ORGET  not  the  Dead,  who  have  loved, 

-•*        who  have  left  us, 

Who  bend  o'er  us  now,  from  their  bright  homes 

above ; 
But  believe — never  doubt — that  the  God  who 

bereft  us 
Permits  them  to  mingle  with  friends  they  ftill 

love. 

Repeat  their  fond  words,  all  their  noble  deeds 

cherim, 

Speak  pleasantly  of  them  who  left  us  in  tears  ; — 
Other  joys  may  be  loft,  but  their  names  fhould 

not  perifh 
While  time  bears  our  feet  through  the  valley  of 

years. 

48 


The  Dead.  49 

Dear  friends   of  our  youth!   can  we   cease  to 

remember 
The   laft  look  of  life,  and  the   low-whispered 

prayer  ? 

O,  cold  be  our  hearts  as  the  ice  of  December 
When  Love's  tablets  record  no  remembrances 

there. 

Then  forget  not  the  Dead,  who  are  evermore 

nigh  us, 
Still  floating  sometimes   to  our  dream-haunted 

bed;— 
In  the  lonelieft  hour,  in  the  crowd,  they  are  by 


us 


Forget  not  the  Dead  !  O,  forget  not  the  Dead  ! 


A    SILENT   SERMON. 

ONCE  as  I  wandered,  juft  at  close  of  day, 
Through  the  mute  aisles  of  Rome's  cathe 
dral  gray, 

No  other  footftep  broke  the  ftillness  there, 
Nor    whispered    vows,    nor    solemn-breathing 

prayer. 

Alone,  half  trembling  at  the  twilight  gloom 
Which  fhrouds   the  temple,  as   it   fhrouds  the 

tomb, 

I  flood,  unwarned,  before  an  infant's  bier, — 
No  mourners  nigh,  no  mother's  frantic  tear. 
A  little  child,  unfhrined  by  prieft  or  hymn, 
Lay  in  the  proud  cathedral  vaft  and  dim  : 
Its  pallid  hands,  cross-folded  on  its  breaft, 
Seemed  like  an  infant's  left  in  flcep  to  reft  ; 
Unwept,  untended,  there  in  death  it  lay, 
A  filent  sermon  wrapped  in  lifeless  clay. 
50 


A  Silent  Sermon.  51 

What  living  voice  could  speak  with  so  much 

power, 

As  those  dead  lips  in  that  ftill  evening  hour  ? 
Priefts,  censers,  anthems,  there  no  feeling  fhed, 
When  face  to  face  the  living  meets  the  dead  ! 


THE   FOUNTAIN,— BOSTON    COMMON. 

XT' ON  fountain  Nymph,  now  sparkling 

•*-        through  the  trees, 

In  earlier  seasons  wooed  the  mountain  breeze. 
There,  'mid  the  torrent,  nursed  in  thunders  loud 
From  the  dark  bosom  of  the  ftormy  cloud, 
Or  gentlier  fed,  when  Summer's  fhowery  train 
In  drops  of  mufic  poured  the  welcome  rain, 
Her  lot  was  caft,  content  to  glide  along, 
Lulled  by  the  ripple  of  her  own  sweet  song. 
The  Indian  maids,  her  playmates,  pafled  away, 
And  ftill  me  waited  for  a  brighter  day, 
Till,  all  matured,  me  rose  at  Duty's  call, 
And  ftepped  a  Naiad  in  her  charmed  hall, — 
Sprang,  crowned  with  grace,  the  monarch  Elm 

befide, 
And  flood  in  radiant  light,  his  young  enchanted 

bride. 


SUMMER   EVENING  MELODY. 

GO  forth  !  the  fky  is  blue  above, 
And  cool  the  green  sod  lies  below  ; 
It  is  the  hour  that  claims  for  love 
The  halcyon  moments  as  they  flow. 

The  glowworm  lends  her  twinkling  lamp, 
The  cricket  fmgs  his  soothing  ftrain, 
And  fainter  sounds  the  weary  tramp 
Of  footfteps  in  the  grafly  lane. 

Go  forth,  ye  pallid  sons  of  care  ! 
Too  long  your  thoughts  to  earth  are  given 
To-night  sweet  music  haunts  the  air, 
And  fragrant  odors  breathe  of  heaven  ! 
53 


SLEIGHING   SONG. 


SWIFT  we  go,  o'er  the  fleecy  snow, 
1   When  moonbeams  sparkle  round  ; 
When  hoofs  keep  time  to  mufic's  chime, 
As  merrily  on  we  bound. 


On  a  winter's  night,  when  hearts  are  light, 

And  health  is  on  the  wind, 
We  loose  the  rein  and  sweep  the  plain, 

And  leave  our  cares  behind. 


With  a  laugh  and  song,  we  glide  along, 

Across  the  fleeting  snow ; 
With  friends  beside,  how  swift  we  ride 

On  the  beautiful  track  below  ! 
54 


Sleighing  Song.  55 

O,  the  raging  sea  has  joy  for  me. 

When  gale  and  tempefts  roar  : 
But  give  me  the  speed  of  a  foaming  fteed, 

And  I'll  afk  for  the  waves  no  more. 


VILLAGER'S  WINTER-EVENING  SONG. 

NOT  a  leaf  on  the  tree,  not  a  bud  in  the 
hollow, 
Where  late  swung  the  bluebell,  and  bloflbmed 

the  rose ; 
And    hufhed    is    the    cry   of   the    swift-darting 

swallow, 
That  circled  the  lake  in  the  twilight's  dim  close. 


Gone,  gone  are  the  woodbine  and  sweet-scented 

brier, 
That  bloomed  o'er  the  hillock  and  gladdened 

the  vale, 
And  the  vine,  that   uplifted   its  green-pointed 

spire, 
Hangs  drooping  and  sear  on  the  froft-covered 

pale. 

56 


*!  Winter-Evening  Song.     57 

And  hark  to  the  gufh  of  the  deep-welling  foun 
tain, 

That  prattled  and  fhone  in  the  light  of  the 
moon  ; 

Soon,  soon  {hall  its  ruming  be  ftill  on  the  moun 
tain, 

And  locked  up  in  filence  its  frolicsome  tune. 


Then  heap  up  the  hearth-ftone  with  dry  foreft- 

branches, 

And  gather  about  me,  my  children,  in  glee  ; 
For  cold  on  the  upland  the  ftormy  wind  launches, 
And  dear  is  the  home  of  my  loved  ones  to  me. 


CHILDREN   IN   EXILE. 

Two  Indian  boys  were  carried  to  London  not  long  ago 
for  exhibition,  and  both  died  soon  after  their  arrival.  It 
is  related  that  one  of  them,  during  his  last  moments, 
talked  inceffantly  of  the  scenes  and  sports  of  his  diftant 
home,  and  that  both  wished  earneflly  to  be  taken  back  to 
their  native  woods. 

TT^AR  in  the  dark  old  foreft  glades, 
-*•      Where  kalmias  bloom  around, 
They  had  their  place  of  youthful  sport, 

Their  childhood's  hunting-ground  ; 
And  swinging  lightly  in  the  vines 

That  o'er  the  wigwam  hung, 
The  golden  robins,  building  near, 

Above  their  dwelling  sung. 

Each  morn  their  little  dufky  feet 

Sprang  down  the  sparkling  lea, 
To  plunge  beneath  the  glowing  ftream 

Befide  the  cheftnut-tree ; 
58 


I7B 


Children  in  Exile.  59 

And  when  the  hiding  squirrel's  neft 

They  sought,  far  up  the  hills, 
They  bathed  their  reeking  foreheads  cool 

Among  the  mountain  rills. 

They  saw  the  early  filver  moon 

Peep  through  her  wavy  bower, 
And  in  her  beams  they  chased  the  bat 

Around  his  leafy  tower  ; 
And,  when  the  ftars  all  filently 

Went  out  o'er  hill  and  plain, 
They  liftened  low  to  merry  chimes 

Of  summer-evening  rain. 

These  haunts  they  miffed,  —  the  city  air 

No  healthful  mufic  brings,  — 
They  longed  to  run  through  woodland  dells, 

Where  Nature  ever  fings  ; 
And,  drooping,  'mid  the  noise  and  glare, 

They  pined  for  brook  and  glen, 
And,  dying,  (till  looked  fondly  back, 

And  afked  for  Home  again. 


COMMON   SENSE. 

OHE  came  among  the  gathering  crowd, 
^A  maiden  fair,  without  pretence, 
And  when  they  afked  her  humble  name, 
She  whispered  mildly,  "  Common  Sense." 


Her  modeft  garb  drew  every  eye, 
Her  ample  cloak,  her  fhoes  of  leather ; 
And  when  they  sneered,  (he  fimply  said, 
u  I  dress  according  to  the  weather." 


They  argued  long,  and  reasoned  loud, 
In  dubious  Hindoo  phrase  myfterious, 
While  {he,  poor  child,  could  not  divine 
Why  girls  so  young  fhould  be  so  serious. 
60 


Common  Sense.  61 

They  knew  the  length  of  Plato's  beard. 
And  how  the  scholars  wrote  in  Saturn  ; 
She  ftudied  authors  not  so  deep, 
And  took  the  Bible  for  her  pattern. 


And  so  fhe  said,  cc  Excuse  me,  friends, 
I  find  all  have  their  proper  places, 
And  Common  Sense  fhould  flay  at  home 
With  cheerful  hearts  and  smiling  faces." 


TO    A    FRIEND. 

O,  with  a  manly  heart, 
Where  courage  leads  the  brave ; 
High  thoughts,   not  years,  have  ftamped  their 

part, 
Who  fhunned  the  coward's  grave. 


Clear,  to  the  eye  of  youth, 
Their  record  ftands  enrolled, 
Who  held  aloft  the  flag  of  Truth, 
Nor  flept  beneath  its  fold. 


They  heard  the  trumpet  sound 
Where  hofts  to  battle  trod, 
And  marched  along  that  burning  ground 
Fear  not !  they  reft  with  God. 
62 


To  a  Friend.  63 

Like  them,  advance  in  love, 

And  upward  bend  thy  fight ; 

Win  Faith  through  Prayer  ;  He  rules  above 

Who  ftill  protects  the  right. 


DIRGE   FOR   A   YOUNG  GIRL. 

T  TNDERNEATH  the  sod,  low  lying, 
^^      Dark  and  drear, 
Sleepeth  one  who  left,  in  dying, 
Sorrow  here. 


Yes,  they're  ever  bending  o'er  her, 

Eyes  that  weep  : 
Forms,  that  to  the  cold  grave  bore  her, 

Vigils  keep. 

When  the  summer  moon  is  mining 

Soft  and  fair, 
Friends  me  loved  in  tears  are  twining 

Chaplets  there. 

Reft  in  peace,  thou  gentle  spirit, 

Throned  above ; 
Souls  like  thine  with  God  inherit 

Life  and  love  ! 
64 


EVENTIDE    IN   THE   COUNTRY. 

/"T~SHIS  cottage  door,  this  gentle  gale, 

-*•    Hay-scented,  whispering  round, 
Yon  path-fide  rose,  that  down  the  vale 
Breathes  incense  from  the  ground, 

Methinks  fhould  from  the  dulleft  clod 
Invite  a  thankful  heart  to  God. 

But,  Lord,  the  violet,  bending  low, 

Seems  better  moved  to  praise  ; 

From  us,  what  scanty  bleflings  flow, 

How  voiceless  close  our  days  ! — 

Father,  forgive  us,  and  the  flowers 
Shall  lead  in  prayer  the  vesper  hours. 
65 


........  „ .. „ ..  „ ........  „ .. „ ..  „ ..  „  „  „ .,  .„-,,,,.  .,, 

<-'— "'^'  "  ' 


A    BRIDAL   MELODY. 

OHE    ftood,    like    an    angel    jufl    wandered 

^^          from  heaven, 

A  pilgrim  benighted  away  from  the  fkies, 

And  little   we    deemed    that   to    mortals  were 

given 
Such  vifions  of  beauty  as  came  from  her  eyes. 


She   looked   up   and   smiled  on   the  many  glad 

faces. 
The  friends  of  her  childhood,  who  flood  by  her 

fide; 
But  me  fhone  o'er  them  all,  like  a  queen  of  the 

Graces, 
When,  bluming,  me  whispered  the  vow  of  a 

bride. 

66 


A  Bridal  Melody.  67 

We  sang  an  old  song,  as  with  garlands  we 
crowned  her, 

And  each  left  a  kiss  on  her  delicate  brow  ; 

And  we  prayed  that  a  bleffing  might  ever  sur 
round  her, 

And  the  future  of  life  be  unclouded  as  now. 


A   VALENTINE. 

QHE  that  is  fair,  though  never  vain  or  proud, 
^More  fond  of  home  than  fafhion's  changing 

crowd  ; 

Whose  tafte  refined  even  female  friends  admire, 
DrefTed  not  for  (how,  but  robed  in  neat  attire  ; 
She  who  has  learned,  with  mild,  forgiving  breaft, 
To  pardon  frailties,  hidden  or  confeft  ; 
True  to  herself,  yet  willing  to  submit, 
More  swayed  by  love  than  ruled  by  worldly  wit  j 
Though  young,  discreet, — though  ready,  ne'er 

unkind, 

BlefTed  with  no  pedant's,  but  a  Roman's  mind  ; 
She  wins  our  hearts,  towards  her  our  thoughts 

incline, 

So  at  her  door  go  leave  my  Valentine. 
68 


SONG 

OVER    THE    CRADLE    OF    TWO    INFANT    SISTERS, 
SLEEPING. 

Q  WEET  be  their  reft  !  no  ghaftly  things, 
^   To  scare  their  dreams,  aflemble  here  ; 
But  safe  beneath  good  angels'  wings 
May  each  repose  from  year  to  year. 

Cheerful,  like  some  long  summer-day, 
May  all  their  waking  moments  flow, 

Happier,  as  run  life's  sands  away, 
Unftained  by  fin,  untouched  by  woe. 

As  now  they  deep,  serene  and  pure, 
Their  little  arms  entwined  in  love, 

So  may  they  live,  obey,  endure, 

And  mine  with  yon  bright  hoft  above. 
69 


BURIAL   OF   A    GERMAN    EMIGRANT'S 
CHILD    AT   SEA. 

O  flowers  to  lay  upon  his  little  breaft, 
No  pafling-bell  to  call  his  spirit  home, 
But  gliding  gently  to  his  place  of  reft, 
Parting,  'mid  tears,  at  eve,  the  ocean  foam. 

No  turf  was  round  him, — but  the  lifting  surge 
Entombed  those  lids   that  closed  so  calm  and 

flow, 

While  solemn  winds,  like  a  cathedral  dirge, 
Sighed  o'er  his  form  a  requiem  sad  and  low. 

Ah,  who  fhall  tell  the  maddening  grief  of  love, 
That  swept  her  heart-ftrings   in   that   hour  of 

woe  ? — 

Weep,  childless  mother,  but  O  look  above 
P'or  aid  that  only  Heaven  can  now  beftow. 
70 


Burial  of  an  Emigrant's  Child  at  Sea.  71 

Gaze,  blue-eyed  mourner,  on  that  filken  hair ; — 
Weep,  but  remember  that  thy  God  will  ftand 
Befide  thee  here,  in  all  this  wild  despair, 
As  on  the  green  mounds  of  thy  Fatherland. 


M.    W.    B. 


tell  me  thou  art  laid  to  reft, 
Companion  of  my  happieft  years  ! 
That  thou  haft  joined  the  loved  and  bleft, 
Whose  early  graves  are  wet  with  tears  ; 
That  I  {hall  never  hear  again 

The  voice  that  charmed  my  boyhood's  ear, 
Nor  meet  among  the  haunts  of  men 
Thy  honeft  grasp  of  love  fmcere. 

Friend  of  my  youth  !   my  buried  friend  ! 

Thy  ftep  was  gayeft  in  the  ring  ;  — 
My  thoughts  far  back  through  childhood  wend, 

And  can  I  now  thy  requiem  fmg  ? 
Alas  !  I  feel  'tis  all  in  vain,  — 

Before  such  grief  my  spirits  bow  ;  — 
Farewell  !  I  cannot  trace  the  pain 

That  weighs  upon  my  heart-ftrings  now. 
72 


ON   A    VILLAGE    CHURCH    IN    ENGLAND. 

THE    air    is    sweet   with   violets,    and    the 
Weft 

Robes  in  its  evening  splendor  earth  and  fky. 
Whoe'er  thou  art,  here  find  repose.    This  spot, 
In  ruftic  beauty  clad,  woos  thee  to  reft. 
The  tongue  of  Time   calls  from  the  gray  old 

tower, 

And  every  leaf  is  whispering  Calm  and  Peace. 
Dear,  welcome  fhrine !   haunt  of  the  good, 

farewell ! 

Oft  in  my  diftant  home,  at  twilight  hour, 
Alone  and  ftill,  (hall  I  recall  this  scene ; — 
The  ivied  porch,  the  fteeple  touched  with  light, 
The  hedgerows  green,  oaks  that  the  centuries 

crown, 

The  kindly  voices  Friendfhip  newly  gave, 
The  chime  of  waters  musical  and  low, 
And  songs  of  birds  careering  up  to  heaven. 
73 


TO   ONE    BENEATH    THE   WAVES. 


COME    back  from  Memory's   mourning 
urn, 

And  bless  my  fight  again  ; 
For  now  in  reftless  dreams  I  turn 

To  clasp  thy  hand, — in  vain ! 
I  bid  thy  gentle  spirit  come 

And  look  once  more  on  me  ; 
But  thou  art  {lumbering  where  the  foam 
Rolls  madly  o'er  the  sea. 

Alas  !  how  soon  our  better  years 

To  tempeft-winds  are  blown, 
And  all  our  hopes,  and  joys,  and  fears 

Alike  are  widely  ftrown  ! 
She  refts  in  yonder  village  mound, 

Who  mould  have  been  thy  bride, 
And  thou  art  laid  beneath  the  sound 

Of  ocean's  flowing  tide. 
74 


110  :: 


o 


A    CHARACTER. 

HAPPIEST   he,  whose  riper  years    re 
tain 

The  hopes  of  youth,  unsullied  by  a  ftain  ! 
His  eve  of  life  in  calm  content  {hall  glide, 
Like  the  ftill  ftreamlet  to  the  ocean'tide  : 
No  gloomy  cloud  hangs  o'er  his  tranquil  day ; 
No  meteor  lures  him  from  his  home  aftray ; 
For  him  there  glows  with   glittering  beam  on 

high 

Love's  changeless  ftar  that  leads  him  to  the  fky  ; 
Still  to  the  paft  he  sometimes  turns  to  trace 
The  mild  expreffion  of  a  mother's  face, 
And  dreams,  perchance,  as  oft  in  earlier  years, 
The  low,  sweet  mufic  of  her  voice  he  hears. 
75 


IN   THE   FOREST. 

H ROUQH  the  proud  aisles  of  old  cathe- 

dral  woods 
What  echoing  voices  break  the  solitudes! 
At  matin-hour  go  hear,  on  green  hill-fide, 
Bells  of  bird-mufic  ringing  far  and  wide, 
While  mountain  ftreams  that  burft  their  prison 

crags 
Run  down  the  rocks  and  wave  their  snow-white 

flags. 


76 


IN    VENICE. 

O5ER   the  waves   gliding  fings  our  gondo- 
lier,- 

Moonrise,  high  midnight,  and  the  voice  of  song! 
Never  again,  never  again,  O  Queen 
Of  waters,  may  my  feet  the  wide  sea  cross 

That  laves  thy  marble  fhores Take  my 

farewell. 

To-morrow's  sun  muft  light  the  pilgrim  onward, 
For  his  home  is  in  the  Weft,  that  far-off  land 
Thy  youth  had  never  known. 

What  fings  he  now 
Who  guides   this  phantom   bark   to    meet   the 

moon  ? 

'Tis  a  brave  chant  of  Bucentaur  and  Love, 
Older  than  Taflb,  or  the  Genoese 
Who  left  his  birthplace  for  the  new-found  isles. 
77 


78 


In  Venice. 


The  maids  of  Venice  sang  it  to  their  lutes, 
When  Doges  liftened  in  Ausonia's  prime  ! 
*  *  *  *  « 

Turn    the    prow  homeward,    for   the    daylight 

hour 

Stands  waiting  in  the  Eaft.    The  night  is  ended, 
And  the  song  has  died  away  forever. 


RIVERSIDE    PRESS: 

PRINTED    BY    H.  O.  HOUGHTON    AND    COMPANY, 
CAMBRIDGE. 


UNIVERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA 
LIBRARY 


This  is  the  date  on  which  this 
book  was  charered  out. 


FEB  21  1912 


MAY    4m 


J6D, 

*fes  /, 


[30m-6,'ll] 


BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


